When Mavericks Collide
by WayLowHalo
Summary: A medical conference in Santa Barbara. A murder most foul. And a fated meeting between one anti-social doctor and one fake psychic. Psych/House Crossover! ON HOLD INDEFINATELY.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: So. Stupid title, I know, and it's subject to change. This story has actually been brewing for quite some time. It's a crossover between Psych and House and I haven't actually done anything with it for awhile. Recently though, a friend of mine expressed the desire that I finish it, and while it's not finished yet I figured I could at least post the first chapter. As I've never started posting a story that was unfinished I don't know how regular updates will be but I'll try my best and I hope it catches the interest of somebody. So, care to take a ride with me, destination unknown? If so, here we go..._

**When Mavericks Collide**

"You are going to a medical conference?" Dr. Eric Foreman demanded incredulously of his boss, Dr. Gregory House.

"Yes, why is that so surprising?" House asked.

"Well, since I've worked with you I can count the number of times you've went to conferences on one hand. One finger, actually. What's so special about this one?"

"Hmm, I don't know," House said mock seriously, pretending to think about it. "Maybe because specialists from all over the world will be there and I was invited."

"And the fact that Dr. Wilson was invited too can't hurt, right?" Thirteen said wryly, right as Foreman snorted.

"Yeah, if all else fails you'll at least get to annoy Wilson, right?" Kutner asked, and Wilson, walking into the Diagnostics office just then groaned.

"Please, don't remind me," the Oncologist said, rolling his eyes. "I still have to endure the flight with him too."

"Flight? Where's this conference at exactly?" Taub asked.

"Santa Barbara, California," Wilson said.

* * *

"I can feel what she felt!" Shawn Spencer, fake psychic detective exclaimed, flailing around the Santa Barbara Police Department in the throws of one of his famous "visions".

"Here we go again," Head Detective Carlton Lassiter muttered, watching Shawn. There was no way the man was a psychic, though the police detective had to grudgingly admit to himself that whatever it was Spencer did worked. They already knew who the murderer was, thanks to him; they just needed to know where the body was. The last and most damning piece of evidence.

"Oh, she's so cold!" Spencer exclaimed, rubbing his arms as though to get rid of a chill. "I see ice! Lots of ice! Alaska?"

Lassiter rolled his eyes again. No way the body was in _Alaska_. No way.

"No, not Alaska," Spencer corrected, and Lassiter rolled his eyes again. "Cold though."

"A freezer?" Burton Guster, Shawn's best friend suggested.

"Yes!" Shawn declared. "A freezer!" Now he rounded on the nervous looking man standing between Chief Karen Vick and Jr. Detective Juliet O'Hara. "You put her in the freezer of your meat shop, didn't you, you dirty dirty man!"

"She deserved what she got!" the man snapped suddenly. "She deserved it and I'm not sorry!"

"Sounds like a confession to me," Chief Vick said, nodding at Shawn. "Detective Lassiter, O'Hara, book him and read him his rights. Then send a team to remove the body. Good work Mr. Spencer, Mr. Guster," she added as her detectives led the murderer away.

"I'm just glad he's behind bars now," Shawn said, rubbing his temples as though he were exhausted and sagging into a nearby chair.

* * *

"Dude, what are you doing this weekend?" Shawn asked Gus as they left the police station.

"Well, there's a medical conference in town that's open to the public," Gus said. "I thought I might go check it out."

"A medical conference?" Shawn exclaimed. "You have the weekend off and you want to spend it in a _medical conference_?"

"What's wrong with that, Shawn?" Gus demanded defensively. "It sounds interesting. Specialists from all over the world are coming. You should check it out with me, you might learn something."

"Gus, I don't want to learn something, I want to have fun!" Shawn complained and Gus rolled his eyes.

"Well I'm going. They're going to have a free buffet and everything," Gus said to much dramatic sighing of his friend.

_A/N: Reviews are greatly appreciated._


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Note: I'm back! Sorry it's been so long between updates but this story has really been bugging me. I think I've figured it out now though and so here is the next chapter! _

_I want to thank everyone who reviewed with all their encouragement. Ultimately that's the only reason I forced myself to try and work this out. I hope you all enjoy!_

**Chapter Two**

"Hello, Santa Barbara," House said, exiting the airport with his backpack over his shoulder, leaving Wilson behind him to struggle with both of their suitcases. Their cab was waiting out front and as the driver got out to help Wilson, House, ignoring them both, got himself situated in the passenger seat.

"So, where are you boys headed?" asked the cabbie once he and Wilson were seated.

"The White Horse Inn," Wilson supplied from the backseat.

"That's a fancy place," the cabbie said conversationally. "You might have trouble getting in; there's some kind of medical thing going on and doctors have been showing up from all over the place to that hotel."

"Really? Well, I guess we'll have to turn back. Why don't you take us back to the airport?" House said in mock distress, rolling his eyes.

For an instant the cabbie looked confused and he glanced back at Wilson questioningly. "Just keep going," Wilson said exasperatedly. "My friend here was just joking with you. He has a strange sense of humor. What he meant to say was we have a reservation. We're doctors."

"No, I did not mean to say that. I meant to say exactly what I said," House insisted, and Wilson shook his head.

"So, what kind of doctors are you guys?" the cabbie asked after a moment, still valiantly trying to make conversation.

"The kind that have to deal with idiots like you every day," House said, taking out a pill and dry swallowing it, his leg throbbing after the long plane ride.

"I'm an Oncologist," Wilson said apologetically, glaring at the back of House's head. "He's a diagnostician."

"Oncologist, that's cancer, right? What exactly does a diagnostician do then?" the cabbie asked with what Wilson figured was either great bravery or great stupidity.

"We diagnose things. Like whether or not people like you are mentally handicapped or just plain idiotic and whether it's chronic or not," House snarled, thoroughly annoyed with this man's attempts to talk to him. Whatever happened to riding in good old-fashioned silence?

"House," Wilson warned tiredly, hoping to keep things civil. Or, at least, as civil as they ever were where Gregory House was involved.

"The White Horse Inn," the cabbie said suddenly. "Just a couple more minutes and you two will be relaxing in your rooms," he said as he pulled up in front of the hotel.

"Finally," House muttered, grabbing his backpack and struggling with his leg to exit the car, leaving Wilson to pay and get the suitcases again.

"Sorry," Wilson murmured apologetically, glancing after House. "He's… in pain. Here's your money. Thanks for the ride."

"Well, that's my job," the cabbie said, glancing after House. "Must be pretty bad pain," he remarked as Wilson got the bags from the trunk."

"Must be," Wilson agreed, nodding in thanks once more before following House to get checked in.

"They gave us adjoining rooms," House informed him before he had a chance to say anything.

"I know. I made the reservation, remember?" Wilson said, accepting his key from the clerk. "I thought it would be easier for you when you inevitably burst in on me. This way you don't have to go through the hallway."

"Oh, how sweet, I didn't know you cared," House said in a mock touched voice.

* * *

"Medical conferences should not be open to the public," House grumpily said the next day, sitting in one of the chairs provided for doctors in the conference hall of their hotel.

"If the general public want to learn then they should be given that opportunity," Wilson said.

"That's what the Internet is for," House said stubbornly. "Besides, if the general public want to learn than they should have buckled down a little more in high school and become doctors themselves, that way they would actually have a reason for being here."

"So all these people who aren't doctors are just lowlife wannabees?" Wilson asked sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"Exactly," House said. "Except maybe that guy over there," he added suddenly, motioning to a man at the buffet table.

"Why is that?" Wilson asked, eyeing the man his friend had pointed out skeptically.

"He looks like he only came here for the food, which you have to admit isn't an unreasonable position, it looks great," House explained and Wilson rolled his eyes again.

"Well, I'm glad you found something you approve of," he said, shaking his head. "We'll have to be sure to get some before we go."

"Our friend who came for the food seems to especially like the pineapple," House remarked, his eyes still on the man. "Look at him loading up!"

* * *

"Dude, this is dope!" Shawn exclaimed, piling his favorite yellow fruit on his plate. "They've got pineapple, Gus, how cool is that?"

"Ssssh," Gus hissed in irritation. "They're going to start in a few minutes and I don't want to miss anything!"

"You're actually excited?" Shawn snorted, coming to sit next to his friend, his plate piled high.

"Yes, I'm excited! Specialists from-"

"All over the world are here, I know," Shawn interrupted, rolling his eyes. "You've told me about a thousand times already, Gus. At least pretend we still have things in common!"

Before Gus could respond though, a blond man in a suit stood up and walked to the podium. "Attention ladies and gentlemen, my esteemed colleagues, I am Dr. Dale Stevens. I want to apologize for the delay in starting and to thank you for your patience so far. We are about to start in a few minutes."

"Told you," Gus whispered triumphantly and Shawn rolled his eyes.

"I'm just waiting for my wife, Dr. Alicia Stevens, who will be helping me head this event and then we will begin. She should be here any minute," Dr. Stevens announced.

"You'd think that the doctors who are supposed to be heading this whole thing would at least be on time," a man in the doctor's section grumbled in a rather loud whisper and Shawn grinned, noting how everyone else shifted but otherwise seemed to decide to pretend they hadn't heard the man.

Leaning forward in his chair Shawn narrowed his eyes, concentrating on taking in the man's appearance. As far as doctors went this one seemed rather scruffy. He wasn't dressed up like the other doctors, preferring instead to wear jeans with a _Metallica_ shirt and a sports jacket. He was rubbing his right leg and there was a cane propped up beside him and as Shawn watched he reached into his pocket and removed a pill bottle, dry swallowing one.

"Dude," Shawn whispered to Gus, squinting at the pills. "What's _Vicodin_ for?"

"It's a pain medication," Gus whispered, also glancing back at the doctor. "Kind of strong and highly addictive. It's not usually prescribed for long term aliments."

As Shawn considered this, the door to the conference room opened and he turned, his eyebrows raising in surprise. "Things just got interesting," he murmured to Gus, grinning, and Gus, also looking toward the door groaned. "No. No, they can't be here! This is supposed to be my weekend off!"

"Sorry to interrupt," Juliet said loudly as she and Lassiter stepped up to the podium with the surprised Dr. Dale Stevens. "I'm Detective O'Hara, this is my partner Detective Lassiter."

"This whole hotel is now a crime scene, no one is allowed to leave. Everyone here are now suspects in a murder case," Lassiter interjected, flashing his badge and staring around at them all grimly.

_A/N: So there you go, chapter two! What did you think? Anyone still interested? Should I still continue?_


End file.
